


Chasing After Nothing Great

by Sootgremlins



Category: KISS (US Band), Music RPF
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 18:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17513465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sootgremlins/pseuds/Sootgremlins
Summary: He’s been crying, never mind the wails that he can’t keep in when he’s alone sometimes and going out of his damn mind.





	Chasing After Nothing Great

**Author's Note:**

> just a short little thing that happened, no real plot :)

Eric’s hands are warm. They’re always warm, well worn and rough at the edges, comforting in the way that a smoldering fire or the sound of wheels on road is- soothing. He handles Ace like you would a horse, like he knows just where to touch, knows just where to hold. It’s oddly reassuring the way he can do that, hold his face in his hands and look him in the eye without anything clouding them but affection. He’s gentle with his moves, and Ace is sure he can tell he’s been crying-

He’s all red eyes and tear tracks and runny eyeliner and fake smiles-

Why is everything becoming- redeyesandteartracksandrunnyeyelinerandfakesmiles. 

Eric’s hands.

Thumbs stroke over his cheeks and chase ghosts of tears that have long since dried on his face not so long ago, not so far away. His curly hair creeps over his face, and Ace longs to reach up and tuck it back, but his hands are lead in his lap like cement and dead weight that he can’t move. His fingers move to play guitar, but that’s all they seem to do anymore, the spark is fading and it’s going faster and faster and the drinks come easier and easier if they whisper a promise of letting him slip into the night again. 

“Hey,” Eric whispers into the still air around them like its sacred silence he’s breaking. His face says a lot more than that one word does. His eyes say more, the curve of his lips, the tiny lines on his face, they’re the only thing Ace can hear talking.

“Hi,” he says and his voice sounds like shit, gravel scraping because he’s been crying, never mind the wails that he can’t keep in when he’s alone sometimes and going out of his damn mind. 

Eric’s hands are still so steady. He leans closer, until their foreheads are so close to touching that he can feel the warmth of him seeping into him. Warmth of another human that he can really feel, not girls gripping his arms or hands he doesn’t want on his chest, not the cold shoulders that Gene and Paul throw at him more often than they look at him (and when they do it’s almost worse, empty gazes cutting into his skin like a razor). 

They’re lips are close too, Ace licks his lips on instinct, or perhaps nervousness but Eric never presses him to do anything. They fit like that, their balance works, they get each other. Eric tips his head, lips ghosting over the tip of his nose, chapped but still somehow delicate. He leans his head forward when Eric kisses his forehead, hands still framing his face. He shuts his eyes because his vision swims for a second with tears. 

He’s not going to cry. No one gets to see him crying, maybe the aftermath, but not in the moment. Except for Eric, who’s offered his shoulder more times then Ace would care to think about at the moment. 

There’s an almost awkward shift of limbs when Eric puts his arms around him, and yet the natural result when Ace leans into his chest more. Eric pulls him closer and leans back against the pillows thrown at the head of the bed until Ace is mostly on him with his face in the crook of his neck. Fingers thread through his hair and hold him there, skin that smells like sweat and cologne that never seems to change, his welcome constant. They cling to each other like drowning men to rafts. He wants it so much, all the time, just touch- not the groupies- Eric. 

Eric holds him with steady hands.

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
